


house call

by elfloversanonymous (asexuelf)



Series: Fenrill Week 2020 [4]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bondage, Cock & Ball Torture, Dildos, Dom Merrill (Dragon Age), Dom/sub, Elf/Elf Relationship(s), Exposure therapy, F/M, Femdom, Fenrill Week 2020, Hand Feeding, Ice Play, Kneeling, Modern Thedas, Sex Magic, Sub Fenris (Dragon Age), Subspace, men in panties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26104015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexuelf/pseuds/elfloversanonymous
Summary: Fenris hooks up with a domme he met online.[PROMPT: Desire.]
Relationships: Fenris/Merrill (Dragon Age)
Series: Fenrill Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1890526
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	house call

**Author's Note:**

> this one took forever to write @_@ so i made it twice as self-indulgent. shout out to m for the help in writing it!! and to mel for cheerleading this one since its conception~
> 
> 💖 enjoy!

Fenris is desperate. If you ask him why he's here, that's what he'll say. _I was desperate._

One must understand - it was getting ridiculous. Each night he seemed to grow needier, more wanton, rutting against his pillow and growling out in frustration for a high he just couldn't reach. Fantasies weren't enough and no amount of toys seemed able to replicate what he needed. It was becoming a problem and he needed a solution - and preferably as _quickly_ as possible.

So, here he is, sitting outside a stranger's apartment in a borrowed car, his panties loud and distracting beneath his usual skinny jeans in a way they normally aren't. Or weren't, until recently. He knows his preference for panties can be a bit hard to understand, but it isn't usually a sexual thing. _Usually._

He's not the type to do much of anything with strangers, let alone hook up, but again - he was desperate. _Is_ desperate. And sitting in the car, rubbing his hungry ass against the driver's seat while pretending he isn't, he starts to feel even more desperate.

She had seemed… fine, when they spoke online. Well, _fine_ undersells it. She was respectful and polite as well as a complete sadist. More importantly, she seemed experienced and well-learned. That's all he really needed - a woman who knew what she was doing and wouldn't tear his ass all the way to the E.R. in her incompetence.

Granted, she'd had to prove that knowledge first. So many shitty doms have been cropping up online post-50 Shades of Grey Warden ( _ugh_ ) that Fenris has long since learned to screen his relationships carefully.

And with a screenname like _Phat-Pussied Pariah,_ Fenris had been uncertain. Nonplussed. Especially given she's a Kirkwaller too - he knows well enough what kind of brainless creeps live in his beloved home city. He continued to feel that way scrolling through some of her profile - but then he'd done the stupid thing and messaged her. That stupid thing ended up being not-so-stupid after all; they started talking kink and she showed that even if she didn't end up being a fantastic Domme, she'd be a good one.

With how needy he's been, good is all he needs.

They'd done a little something in the chat, some not-quite play that drove him crazy, rubbing himself over his sweatpants right in his desk chair and keening out to no one for the woman behind the screen. It was barely enough to tell if they were even into the same things - by the time his balls were sore from pinching them, he'd already asked if they could meet up.

 _Tomorrow evening,_ she'd said. _When it's still light out._ And tomorrow came, the day longer for his impatience.

But here he is now. Tomorrow is today and he's ready. Ish.

He's parked uncertainly against the curb in front of a small, sad-looking home, feeling suddenly that his wait may not be ending just yet. It doesn't look as creepy as the places Hawke used to deliver pizzas to, but it's…

Well, okay, maybe _sad-looking_ is a bit harsh, especially considering the quality of Alienages as a whole. It's obviously lived-in and well-kept. One of the windows is cracked and the wood of the door is split alarmingly, but the home itself seems oddly warm and cheery. The girl's tried to brighten the place up; that much is obvious. Bright curtains cover the windows, even the nearly broken one, and there are potted flowers just about everywhere he can see, in more shapes and colors than he can recognize. The welcome mat is a too-bright purple that he can't read from here, but it looks like there's some kind of animal shape printed on it too.

Fenris sighs. She hadn't seemed like a smiling creep over messaging…

 _You're desperate,_ he reminds himself. It doesn't do much for his self-esteem or his nerves, but after choking down a quick few anti-anxiety pills, it gets him out of the car. That's the thing that matters - knocking on that splintering door and scratching that itch. She probably isn't even a serial killer. Yet.

He breathes deeply through his nose as he closes the car door, steadfastly ignoring the fact that his cock can drag him around behind it like a dog on a leash, even towards certain death.

He's careful not to trip over the curb, doubly careful to avoid slipping on the hopscotch stone path leading to the door. They're surrounded by dandelions, but the stone itself seems in good quality, not yet splintering or broken. When he gets to the welcome mat, a lavender halla looks up at him from between his feet.

 _Andaran atish’an_ , it says. The text is in Trade, but he's sure he'd get the picture if it were in Elvish script.

He sighs. He knew she was Dalish from her picture, of course - those elegant, forest green tattoos on her face were hard to miss, even if all he saw were the ones under her lip - but still, he hopes she isn't… _too_ Dalish. Okay, that's unfair too. It's just- He's happy to be her whore, but the minute he's called a _flatear_ is the minute he leaves.

Still; it's safer than hooking up with some random human. Or _shemlen_ , as his Domme for the night might say.

But enough stalling. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Fenris knocks. The nervous energy in his veins makes him copy Hawke's favorite - _shave-and-a-haircut_ \- and he winces with embarrassment.

It takes a moment, but soon he hears shuffling behind the door, and he stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets as nervous energy fills his gut. _Fasta vas,_ should he have dressed nicer? These are his nicest jeans, his best panties, but he doesn't really own any nice shirts… The hoodie is kind of dorky, but he expected to take it off anyways-

The door swings open.

"Oh," Fenris says dumbly. "I didn't know you were so short."

The girl blinks up at him in just as much shock. "Easy for you to say! You're so tall!"

Fenris shifts his weight uneasily. He knows 5'9 isn't exactly the average height of an elvhen male. But, neither is the girl's, what, 5' even?

She's a little different than he expected from her picture. The Vallaslin curling down her chin is matched by elegant, block-and-curve lines on her cheekbones and forehead, dark against her light brown skin, but not as dark as her eyelashes and smudged eyeliner. She's dressed… surprisingly, with messy red eyeshadow and what looks like a ripped band tee and a fishnet top above a long, dark skirt. A bit different than his dark denim pants, muscle shirt, and _Elfanescence_ hoodie, but not by much.

They blink at each other before the girl's eyes go wide. "Oh, right! Guests are invited _inside_. Um, why don't you come in? That's rhetorical, sorry - please come in." She steps aside as she opens the door, revealing the interior of the small home - and the pleasant smell of food cooking. "Have you eaten?" She turns to smile at him as she closes the door, eyes sparkling. "That's not rhetorical."

"Uh…" There is a distant memory of breakfast, though he couldn't tell her what he ate. He's getting better at remembering meals, but that doesn't mean he eats regularly. "No, it slipped my mind."

"I'll put a bowl together for you then. Any allergies?"

He shakes his head, looking around as he follows her into the house. "No, I don't believe so." A distaste for fish doesn't exactly count.

"Good. I haven't made this particular dish before, so hopefully it's good. Some shemlen recipe for supposedly _authentically Dalish_ cuisine." She rolls her eyes, but not too bitterly. Amused, mostly, though she's surprisingly hard to read for someone so bubbly. "Even if it's not authentic, it can be fun to try new things."

Fenris wrinkles his nose. "Do I want to know what humans think the Dalish eat?"

The girl laughs. "Oh, don't worry. All the 'exotic' ingredients were substituted with what I could find at the market - so no bugs. Although, the idea of humans eating random beetles for the sake of 'authenticity' does make me smile!"

They've made it past the warmly lit, cluttered kitchen space and into her sitting room. She gestures to a loveseat, barely small enough to fit amidst the too-many bookshelves that line the walls, and grins.

"Sit. I'll check on the meal."

He obeys, already feeling slightly less nervous. His stomach is still light and tumbling and his heart is still a little too noticeable in his chest, but she doesn't seem stuck up or moronic or like she's going to kill him. For all his anxiety, he's at ease.

While she's clinking about in the connected kitchen, which is separated from the living space by only a thin room divider, he looks around at her home.

More than anything else, he notices again the almost hilarious amount of books. There's two hefty stacks on the coffee table in front of him. A lot of them are on magic, he notices with a knee-jerk jolt of fear, but there are also books on Elvhen history, on movie making, on languages… Books on just about anything Fenris can imagine.

 _And even if she is a mage,_ he tells himself, _that doesn't mean she plans to hurt you._

And he has therapy in two days. He's sure the doctor would love to hear about it; he's making amends with his sister, he accompanied Anders to one of those mage bars in Lowtown for card night, and he's about to get rawed by the shortest witch in Thedas. Trauma therapy is going to be even saucier than usual.

The girl returns with only one bowl.

"Oh, I had an excellent idea," she gushes as she hurries into the room. "Feel free to say 'no', of course, but maybe it would help us get to know each other."

She sets the bowl down on top of one of the coffee table's bookstacks, then moves around to sit beside him. Feeling her so close makes him blush again, and he rubs his palms against his knees through the denim of his jeans, careless of his lyrium markings.

She turns to him, and smiles a bit awkwardly. "Um. Alright, I'll say now, you can say no to anything you like before we've chosen a watchword, which, then I'd like you to say that-" She cuts herself off, looking away bashfully. "Maybe I could feed it to you while you knelt? It might break the ice a little."

Immediately, Fenris folds out of the loveseat to his knees. He doesn't think about it - he _should,_ but he doesn't. He's been needing this way too much. He's probably lick every book in here of dust if she told him to, Void be to papercuts.

"Oh." She smiles - she just _keeps smiling_ \- but this time it's more genuine, relaxed. Her skirt is soft against his hands, and he cups her calf through it, revelling in the sudden rush of _correctness_ that fills him. Soothes him. "Creators, I needed this."

And Fenris more than relates. When her fingers find their way into his hair, soothing back the pale strands, he feels it deeper than his bones.

With a happy sigh, she moves her hand away, reaching out instead for the bowl. "It's _Suledin Soup_ , according to the recipe. Which is just a hilarious thing to call a soup." At his blank look, she explains, "Suledin means 'endure'. You aren't Dalish?"

Now he tenses, though she doesn't sound anything other than conversational. He knows the tattoos make people come to certain conclusions - and why wouldn't they? They're Dalish, even if it was a human who recreated them.

"No," _ma'am? Serrah? Mistress?_ He gnaws on his lip and wishes the anxiety pills would kick in already.

"Oh! Oh, I am so rude. I don't normally do this, is all, I tend to pay a bit of money at the Blooming-" She cuts off, stirs her soup, then smiles down at him. "I'm Merrill. That's my real name. You don't have to give me your real name if you don't want to."

He sucks his bitten lip, thinking. "Fenris. Do you have a specific thing you like to be called during a scene?"

Merrill raises an eyebrow, seemingly amused. "Not really. My name sounds so much prettier when a cutie sub is whining it, is all."

She offers him a spoonful then; the first bite. It's a bit pale, like chicken soup might be, with a strange green hue. "Um."

"Don't worry, the green is food coloring. I suppose the color is what makes it elvhen."

This time, he does laugh. He presses his cheek against her knee and lets all the nervous energy just bubble out. Then he takes the offered bite, trying not to slurp the broth too rudely and failing.

It doesn't bother her. She smiles warmly and takes her own bite. "Oh! Not bad, actually. Not very Dalish, though. Pinterest is so awful." She shakes her head, chewing on a vegetable. "Do you have anything specific you like calling a Dominant? Maybe a specific dynamic that interests you? I know we only spoke yesterday, but I prefer to plan things out in person."

Fenris opens his mouth to reply and is force-fed another bite. This bite has carrot, which he chews happily.

"I _do_ have some toys and my bed has built-in cuffs-" She presses her foot against his thigh meaningfully. "-but I'm sadly lacking in horny costumes."

He laughs, watching as she eats. "A shame," he murmurs. "But no need. I am… a simple man, at the end of the day. I'd like to call you Mistress and I'd like you to hurt me."

Merrill nods sagely. "A timeless classic. Why fix what isn't broken?" She feeds him another bite, this time with celery and a bit of meat, which he chews obediently. "Well, I'm more than happy to do that! What sort of pain? Impact play, temperature play - maybe some of everyone's favorite: CBT?"

He spreads his legs around hers almost on reflex, before tilting his head to the side. "Temperature play? I haven't done that for pain… Usually just a bit of teasing." An ice cube here or there is fun, but hardly as exciting as breaking in a new whip.

"Oh, yes! It's something I enjoy very much. And it's always easy and on hand, being a mage, you know." Fenris tenses, then forces himself to breathe and relax. She doesn't notice. "After all, I can't just cast _clamp your nipple,_ but I _can_ create a bit of ice into the shape of a dildo. Well, a thin one, with a warming spell ready. Nobody wants a frostbitten heiny! Even the people that really, really do."

Fenris kisses her knee almost out of habit as he thinks, earning a gentle rub to his ear. It's actually _pleasurable_ this way, comforting in a way no human ever seems to manage. They're always too rough with the tip, rolling the cartilage awkwardly.

"You don't have to do that if you don't want to, of course," she says sweetly. "I know some people are uncomfortable with magic in the bedroom."

Looking up at her through his eyelashes, he really considers it. She's definitely not what he expected, but she's… sweet. And he did already tell Varric where he'd be tonight, just in case. He'd even specified to go to Athenril instead of the guard, since it's the Alienage. Fenris is safe here - and will continue to be safe, he thinks, even if Anders lights a candle or Varania helps his garden bloom or Merrill casts an ice spell on his junk.

Oh, Dr. Bonhomme is going to love hearing about this.

"Can I kiss you?" Fenris asks suddenly.

Merrill blinks in surprise. "Oh! Well, yes, I quite like kissing."

He raises up on his knees to press their lips together, mindful of the soup between them. "I'm from Tevinter," he admits. "So be mindful with me. I'm not delicate, just…"

She nods, her face suddenly sad, wide eyes gentle on his. "Just injured. I understand. I'll make sure it feels extra good, then - and I have cake for afterwards! We can warm it up and cuddle. Oh, do you like cuddling during aftercare?"

He giggles a bit, hiding it behind a cough. It's embarrassing how much he likes cuddling and praise after a scene - and how much he likes children cartoons.

"Er- Yes," he says. "I'll cuddle."

"Good. And then cake and some Gatorade." Her nose wrinkles and she makes an indelicate noise, disgusted. "Oh, that's a horrible combination…"

"I've had worse," he jokes, but he almost sounds proud. He is, a little. The things he eats when no one's around are his own business.

She giggles behind her hand. "Masochist…" The way she shakes her head is too fond for a stranger, but it makes him feel warm anyways. "Well, let's get you full of soup, then we can decide where you want me to do what, hm? And watchword. Do you have one you prefer?"

"I red-yellow-green. And blue," he adds. He scratches his cheek, thinking. "Blue is for more, yellow is for slow down. If you'd like a specific word for an emergency stop - like a medical emergency - I like having one of those."

"Oh, good idea. Especially given we're doing magic play… Can't be too careful!" She squeezes him between her knees, head tilted to the side in thought. "How about- suledin? Since enduring when you aren't enjoying it is the opposite of what I want you to do."

"Suledin." He rolls it arounds. "Suledin. _Suledin_. Yes, I think it will work. I'm good at remembering new languages, so it won't slip my mind."

"Good!" She rewards him with a kiss, then another bite of soup. "And I'll check in after a 'red' anyhow."

He kisses her knee again, then twice more.

She grins with her lip between her teeth. "Well, that's a weight off my chest. Would you like me to get another bowl when this is finished?"

That's… a good idea. If they're going to do anything fun, he'll need the energy for it. Especially if tonight is as emotionally exhaustive as he assumes it will be.

"Yes, please. Mistress."

And another kiss for good measure.

*

Fenris' feelings on bondage flip-flop erratically. 

Some days he hates it; the rope against his skin is like sandpaper, as terrifying as a needle in front of his eye or a crossbow aimed at his temple. Just the thought of even the prettiest rope dress makes him nauseas. Other days, he craves it like nothing else, unable to chase away his restlessness until his hands are cuffed behind his back or pulled out reaching to both sides. There's no logical pattern to when he'll love or hate being bound - _kaffas,_ he barely knows _why,_ let alone _when_. He just has to hope he gets lucky.

Tonight, Fenris is lucky.

Merrill - his Mistress, he reminds himself giddily - finishes locking his wrists to the headboard. He's not spread-eagle, instead bent into his favorite position: his hands crossed above his head, locked together, with a spreader bar between his thighs tied to the headboard to keep his knees bent.

To keep him exposed.

Tonight, Fenris is _very_ lucky. Even as the residual fear of magic clings to his skin, making it crawl in paranoia, he knows that tonight is going to be a good night.

Merrill's hands are already cold. Her fingers touch his legs, his arms, his chest, and breath a fury of fluttering moths into his stomach. A blizzard of butterflies. He swallows at the feeling of her skin, like ice, leaving a chill everywhere that it touches him. Already, he's floating, made little else but the place where Merrill's fingers meet his skin - and his cock, straining painfully against his panties. There's a dark wet spot staining the fabric already; he can feel it turning cool in the growingly frosty air of Merrill's bedroom.

"Mistress," he says, but she shushes him.

"Just let me see you. Let me look at you." Her voice is quiet - as breathless as she is stern. "You dressed up for me-" She tugs gently at the waistband of his panties, then pulls it and lets it snap against his hip. "-and I'd like to appreciate it in full."

"Yes, Mistress." And it's little else but a gasp, because her hand is already moving down, running icy-cold fingertips up and down over his cock.

The feeling of her hand through the panties, the cold leaching into the wet pool of pre-cum staining the front… All he can do is lay his head back and fight to breathe. He's wanted this so badly. Even if Merrill does kill him afterwards, he thinks it may very well have been worth it.

Just before he can think to beg for more, she bends her fingers into a claw, pressing her nails gently enough against him not to cause pain, but firmly enough to be a threat. "How much do you like these panties, Fenris?"

He takes a breath through his mouth, then licks his lips. "Mistress?"

"Just answer." And her nails press harder against him.

"Yes, Mistress." He swallows, still hard against her hand. Harder now, maybe. "They're my best pair. My favorite."

Her hand relaxes - and she begins to gently jerk him off through the panties, only enough to make him whine again. He can see the outline of her smile - that blighted smile - through the corner of his eye.

"I'll leave them in-tact, then," she says.

And then suddenly his panties are pulled off, letting his cock bounce against his belly. She's rucked them up around his thighs, tucked under the spreader bar, to reveal his ass and self-bruised balls. He barely has the wherewithal to blush; he's too excited at what she's about to do to feel much else.

Her hands leave him for only a moment - just long enough for her to ask gently, "Ready, lethallin?"

"Yes, Mistress." He doesn't pick his head up to face her, but he knows she can see his smile. "Green."

"Good," she says, filling his chest with that easy warmth. He nearly melts into the bedsheets. "I'm going to penetrate you now. It _will_ be a bit of adjusting at first, but I think you'll find you quite like it. Tell me if you don't, of course, and I'll find another way to torture you."

"Yes, Mistress. Thank you."

"You're quite welcome."

And then she's putting those ice-cold fingers against him again, spreading his ass open with her thumbs. He's hairless - he grows hair there, but he gets rid of it on purpose, preferring the satin-and-lace feeling of lingerie against bare skin to the silly embarrassment of having a perfectly normal, hairy body. She seems to appreciate it as much as he does, running the pad of her finger over the smooth skin.

"Wow," she says. "You're really going to be feeling this, aren't you?"

She doesn't give him time to answer. Before he can even register what she's said, the familiar pull of magic echoes through his body; and lingers loudly where she's cast it.

A small ice-dildo penetrates him, just as she said it would. It's not at all what he imagined.

It's far thinner than even one of his smallest dildos - probably only the width of one of those Pocky things Hawke's sister likes and not nearly as long. It's more akin to getting his temperature taken than getting fucked, although far less clinical and about three times as cold. Were it not for the fact it's made of ice, he would probably barely feel it at all.

As is, a whine forces its way from him, more surprise than pleasure. It's a humiliating sound, but Merrill doesn't take the opportunity to tease him, only laughing quietly at his expense. He feels the side of her thumbnail pressing into his skin, her thumb holding his hole open to press the thin ice further inside. It can't be more than three inches now, but it's already so much more invasive than anything else he's taken before. And that includes the 'realistically proportioned' dragon dildo he got as a gag gift last holiday.

"Blue." He wants to close his eyes, but they remain half-lidded, staring blurrily at Merril's ceiling. " _More._ Please, Mistress."

A laugh leaves her again, as warm as her magic is freezing. "Alright, Fenris. If you insist."

And then it- grows. It grows. Not just longer, but thicker, maybe twice as thick as before. He can tell because suddenly he's being stretched, feeling that cold invade even more of his insides, feeling it press up against the delicate skin of his asshole.

All he can do is moan. It's a choked sound, high in pitch and oddly breathless, made to waver as the discomfort grows and grows. And grows - the dildo continues to grow incrementally, but it doesn't go much thicker than a finger. It does, however, begin to thrust, pushed in and out of his uneager hole.

He wants more. He wants less. It's the perfect kind of torture.

"Oh, _vishante kaffas-"_ He can barely hear himself. The world has shrunk to the size and shape of the ice inside him. "Mercy."

That makes her laugh again. This laugh is far less warm than the last; her voice is dark, bright with her own sadistic pleasure. That's one of Fenris' favorite sounds - the cruel joy that touches a Dom's tone once he's begun to suffer. His cock has begun to soften, but it gives a brave twitch at her coyote-sharp grin. 

Merrill lifts her hands from his ass slowly, checking to make sure the thrusting will continue without her guidance. It does - and what magic she uses to make that happen is unknown to him. Though, he's not currently within his ability to care about that, especially not when her too-cold hands are sliding up his sides to pinch his nipples.

Fenris cries out in something beyond ecstasy.

He always has a hard time explaining this to Varric. It's always difficult to put into words why he likes pain, but it's even more difficult to express why the pain is good without an orgasm to make it 'worth it'. 

People can understand it when someone tells them, 'Pain gets me off,' but not so much when Fenris shivers ecstatically at the feeling of his cock retreating away from the growing discomfort assaulting his body. He's not going to cum tonight - he knows that and he's excited at what they're doing regardless.

If Merrill wants to cum, she'll ride his tongue or tie her favorite vibrator to a gag for him to use on her, but that's just another piece of what makes submitting so powerful for Fenris. This pain, serving his Mistress; it's fulfilling in its own right. When he gets home, he'll fuck his cock into his fleshlight until it's raw, thinking of this moment, of her nails biting into his sensitive nipples, but for now, he winces at the growing pain, at her teeth against his thigh, at her ice cold hand closing around his definitely-now-soft cock, and lets her make him whole.

Her hand moves down, clenching meanly around his ballsack at the same time she kisses him with all her teeth. The ice dildo grows, now the size of two fingers, stretching his dry, clenching hole to the point of tear prickling his eyes. Even if he wanted to escape this, he couldn't - he fights against the restraints, tries to close his legs shut for a reprieve against her cruel, frozen fingers, and they don't give.

And for that, Fenris counts himself lucky.

*

The warming balm is a very different sensation than Merrill's ice magic. For one, Fenris isn't flying high in subspace, so he remembers to be embarrassed about where Merrill's hands are.

"Mistress," he protests. He wiggles away from her probing finger, grunting at the sudden warmth. "I can do that. Let me-"

"Absolutely not! Don't make me get the spreader bar out again - I'll do it!"

The look she gives him is a serious one, but he can't help ducking his head to laugh at it. She's cute; her wide eyes are so earnest, her hands surprisingly gentle even when she grabs his hips to pull him back into a laying position. When his hips bounce against the bed, she smiles sweetly, and tucks him in a bit more with the thick green and red blanket she brought from the living room for him.

Then she continues putting warming balm inside his ass.

He wrinkles his face, pouting. "I don't think that's meant for _internal use._ "

"Neither is ice," she shoots back. "Care to hydrate? Gatorade _and_ water."

He huffs a sigh, but it too quickly turns into a laugh. "If I must. Although, if I remember correctly, I was promised cuddles after my torment."

"You do remember correctly." Apparently satisfied with the care she's given his growingly sore hole, she moves on to working the balm gently around his penis. "And I will give you so many cuddles and kisses, I promise - as soon as I know you won't lose any dangly bits to frost." She gives him a warm look. "They're such nice dangly bits, after all."

He can't help it - he giggles. "Thank you. I like yours too."

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading ☆


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